


take me back to the night we met

by transcendencism



Series: prompts from tumblr [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic (Video Game)
Genre: Enemies to Lovers, Farewell Kisses, Forbidden Love, M/M, imagine it as a very lovingly drawn but messy scribble, specificially. right at the end, takes place during Shadow of Revan, that's the art equivalent, this one is . a little all over the place
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-01
Updated: 2020-07-01
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:41:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25023337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/transcendencism/pseuds/transcendencism
Summary: "The silence is uncomfortable, and the humid air thick with the emotions churning between them. Hyroh wishes he couldn’t feel it; the Force is a crushing weight, and he’s almost tempted to turn tail and run, take the next shuttle, and push Rylthos to the back of his mind.But he couldn’t do that."Hyroh has to say goodbye.
Relationships: Male Jedi Knight | Hero of Tython/Male Sith Warrior
Series: prompts from tumblr [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1813855
Comments: 3
Kudos: 10





	take me back to the night we met

**Author's Note:**

> this one is mostly unedited bc it's been a wip for at least a week if not longer and i wanted to get it out there and have it be done, so here it is!!! Rylthos belongs to @disaster-bi-shan on tumblr!! <3333
> 
> kudos & comments are appreciated <333

Hyroh doesn’t think he’s been this tired in a long time; maybe that’s pushing it, but the statement feels truthful nonetheless. The rain hasn’t stopped since the strike force caught up to Revan, and now his robes are thoroughly soaked through. To his left, he can hear Janith’s snide “maybe you should’ve put on some armor,” when his boots  _ squelch  _ unpleasantly as he tries to trek through the mud back to the shuttle.

At any other time, he’d retort with a remark about maybe Janith is spending a  _ little _ too much time around Kira, but he’s…  _ exhausted _ . When his master doesn’t respond, Janith’s shoulders sag a little. “It’s fine,” Hyroh mumbles before he can ask, “I’m not mad, it’s fine. Just…”

“Tired,” Janith finishes for him. Despite his unfortunate discovery of sarcasm at Kira’s hands, he’s still understanding when it counts. “I get it, Master.”

Hyroh tries for a smile, but even that feels like too much effort, so he settles for tilting his head in the direction of the landing site down the hill. “You should get going, I’ll catch up.” His Padawan hesitates, giving his Master a cautious, almost worried glance. “Janith, I’m  _ okay _ .” They’ll have to talk about all of this later: Revan, the Emperor… Hyroh shoves those thoughts aside. He just can’t do it right now. “I want to make sure everyone’s alright; I can take another shuttle.”

It’s not the most satisfying answer, but Janith sighs in defeat. “Fine. But I think you need to get some rest.”

“The Padawan advising the Master…” Hyroh hums, bumping Janith’s shoulder with a closed fist, “you should take your own advice first, before giving it to others.” He smothers a laugh as Janith glares up at him, and he gives his shoulder another guiding push. “I’ll see you back at camp.” He crosses his arms as the young Jedi walks ahead of him, waiting until he disappears down the crest of the hill before turning around and heading back towards the temple.

Some of the coalition forces still linger on the temple grounds, though the main strike force was quick to leave. Hyroh raises a brow when he spots Master Satele speaking with Darth Marr, the Force around them tepid and hesitant. At the very least, Hyroh sighs with relief, they aren’t arguing. He continues up the steps and turns towards the makeshift clinic until his eyes find their prize: the armored Sith lord shrugs off a fretting medic, and even from here Hyroh can hear the growl twisted by the helmet.

“Lord Wrath,” the title feels bitter on his tongue, but it prompts the medic to look in his direction as he approaches. “It’s alright, I’ve got him,” Hyroh keeps his lips in a thin, stern line, and aside from a sharp glance, the Imperial medic doesn’t resist and drops their efforts to give the Sith medical attention.

He waits until the medic is a safe distance away before steadily placing his hand on one armored pauldron. “I came to check on you,” he says before Rylthos can ask, “figured you’d be refusing treatment.”

“What, like you?” Though he can’t see it, Hyroh’s sure Rylthos is smirking under the helmet. Hyroh wrinkles his nose and shakes his head, instead guiding the Sith back to the temple steps. “Speaking of,” Rylthos tilts his head up towards him.

Hearing that voice twisted by the helmet never ceases to make Hyroh shudder, but he hopes Rylthos doesn’t notice. “I’m fine,” he interrupts, barely managing to keep his footing as the steps give way to slick mud.

That Rylthos  _ does _ notice. “You should’ve worn armor.” It comes out sterner than the light, humorous tone Janith used. Hyroh shrugs and drops his hand from Rylthos’ shoulder, heading on towards the shuttle. He only pauses when a gloved hand snakes around his wrist. ‘Hyroh,” the gentle rumble of his name forces him to turn around, and he ducks his head to avoid making eye contact. “... You look like shit.”

Yeah, Hyroh imagines that’s as good a description as any. Not that he has a mirror on hand, but he imagines he looks like a wet womp rat; drowning in heavy, rain-soaked fabric with his boots and trousers caked with mud. “Mm,” Hyroh’s lips quirk up in another attempt at a smile, “I feel like it.” Rylthos’ hand is still around his wrist, and with a soft sigh, Hyroh shifts his grip to hold his hand. “Let’s talk somewhere more private.”

“Your Grandmaster will probably notice you’re gone,” Rylthos replies, but doesn’t offer up any sort of protest as Hyroh walks towards the encroaching jungle framing the beaten pathway.

“She has my frequency if it’s urgent.” It’s not the first time Hyroh and Rylthos have seemingly vanished, and it seems everyone has elected to ignore it. Hyroh wonders if Satele knows (he’s almost sure he does), but hasn’t bothered to worry about it. 

It’s the last time he’ll have to think about it.

Nudging back rain-dappled ferns and branches with his free hand causes water to drip down onto him, only adding to the weight of the waterlogged fabric. For once, he envies Rylthos’ heavy, water-resistant armor; the heavy, dark plating that keeps him hidden from the rain and anything else that could get too close. Even the gauntlet he’s holding feels heavy, and it’s hard to imagine Rylthos’ warm hand inside it.

Before he gets too lost in imagining himself in that shell, Rylthos stops him, as they’ve gone deep enough into the woods to avoid intrusive eyes or ears. Hyroh frowns when Rylthos pulls his hand back, looking up from the underbrush to watch him pull off the helmet and tuck it under his arm. Auburn, wavy hair tumbles around his face, frizzy from Yavin’s humidity.

“Well,” Rylthos draws in a deep breath, “it’s over.” He’s looking down and away from Hyroh, his grip tight on his helmet.

Hyroh sighs. “Yeah.”

The silence is uncomfortable, and the humid air thick with the emotions churning between them. Hyroh wishes he couldn’t feel it; the Force is a crushing weight, and he’s almost tempted to turn tail and run, take the next shuttle, and push Rylthos to the back of his mind.

But he couldn’t do that.

Hesitantly, Hyroh puts his hands over Rylthos’, gently taking the helmet from his hand. With his hands free, Rylthos readily lifts them to Hyroh’s face, fingertips tangling in the stray strands of hair. He nearly drops the helmet when Rylthos pulls him down, and the tension melts when their lips brush together.

It’s desperate and hungry: Rylthos holds him tighter and pulls him even closer, and Hyroh has no thoughts of resistance, not a single thought about the trouble he’d be in if they were ever spotted. Any anxieties are drowned out by the rich scent of blood, metal, and rain, brushed away by the hands curling deeper in his hair.

Hyroh pulls back just enough to breathe, eyes barely open but still able to see the unnatural, glowing amber of Rylthos looking back at him. “I don’t want to go,” Hyroh’s voice breaks on the words, any semblance of composure slipping out of his fingers along with the helmet landing in the mud. No longer burdened by the mask, Hyroh’s hands cup the sides of his neck, thumbs gently rubbing the fur. “I don’t want this to be over.”

Rylthos quiets his sob with another kiss, gentler than before. The hands in his hair trail down to his shoulders, staying there as Hyroh continues to cry. But soon, the hands slip away, and Hyroh leans forward into the space between them once Rylthos breaks the kiss. “Hyroh,” Rylthos’ tone hardly shakes, but Hyroh can still hear the tremble, “we can’t.”

“You can come back.” He’s being stupid, Hyroh knows he is. Rylthos would never come back, but… he can’t--he  _ just _ got him back. “Rylthos, you can come with me.” His heart hammers in his chest as Rylthos leans down to pick his helmet up from the mud, trying to wipe the grime off. “Ry--”

“I  _ can’t _ ,” Rylthos snaps, ears flattened against his head, “I won’t.” He bites down a snarl, shaking and turning his head. If Hyroh didn’t know better, he’d think they were back on Ilum. He can see the cold in Rylthos’ eyes, making that otherworldly orange even brighter. “It’s over.”

He can’t shrug off the finality this time. His shoulders slump, and he watches with an aching heart as Rylthos turns his back. He could reach out and grab his shoulder again, try to convince him. But by the time he’s taken a step forward, Rylthos has already disappeared back into the jungle, headed the way they came.

It’s over.


End file.
